


Beauty & That Bitch

by BeatlessMelody



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: (He is), 2019 Stanley Cup Playoffs, 4k, Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, Is Kris Letang a damn fool?, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Sid/Geno - Freeform, a bitch is back with his crackships, and petey/brock, and so does Canner, each --- is a pov change btw!, erik has Canucks Sensibilities, find out soon - Freeform, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-14 16:16:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18951625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatlessMelody/pseuds/BeatlessMelody
Summary: Sometimes Kris forgets not to be an asshole





	Beauty & That Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Seb for beta-ing this I would die for them!

An overtime loss. In the goddamn playoffs. Sloppy play, but that wasn’t what Erik was focusing on. They were in the damn  _ playoffs  _ for the third time in his entire damn career, he had made it here. Made it to the ultra league. 

****

Winning, or losing. They had made it.  _ He _ had made it. 

****

The heavy atmosphere of the locker room was no place for Erik’s smile. His enthusiasm wilting in his chest like a dead rose when faced with his teammates unhappiness or just plain sour expressions.

****

And so he choked it back. Forced his giddiness to neutralize on his lips. 

****

Neutral, it seems, was not enough for some of the team. Quite quickly evident in the sharp glare of Kris even from across the room. 

****

Increasing tenfold when Erik tried to make himself helpful after stripping from his own pads and jersey and hanging it neatly. He was only trying to do the same when Kris abandoned his own jersey on the ground. 

****

#58 was ripe for trampling if it stayed where it was. He had done it before, of course. Picked up after his teammates, no matter what team he was. They were messy, Erik had found, even rookies.  _ Especially  _ rookies.

****

But Kris was no rookie. And Kris did not take to it as kindly as the rookies.

****

The jersey was snatched from between his fingers with such aggression it would have ripped if it had been a lesser fabric. 

****

Erik recoiled, wincing as full weight was put upon his newly injured ankle. It hadn't been good enough to skate on; he would pay for that tonight, he was sure. 

****

But it wasn’t about his injury right now. It was about the fire that blazed behind Kriss eyes, something deep and feral that Erik hated to see in anyone. 

****

It was about the hiss and sharp sting of words that flowed like a poison honey from Kris’ lips. Words said far too easily.

****

———

****

“Some of us can take care of ourselves, you know. I don’t need you fuckin’ following me like a lost puppy when you don’t know what to do.” 

****

Eriks head tilted, and it only served to piss Kris off even more than he already was. First game and they had lost, and like always Kris couldn’t shake the feeling that if he had been more in the moment it wouldn’t have happened.

****

It wasn’t Erik’s fault. But he was the only one nearby, the only one who had done  _ anything _ in Kris’ general direction since they had come off ice.

****

“You’re not part of some little, insignificant, goddamn useless-ass team anymore, fuckin’ act like it for once. None of us need a goddamn maid, we need a defenseman. And I’ve only seen one of those things since you damn well got here.”

****

He should have stopped long before now. Kris knew that. The entire damn locker room knew that, even as they avoided a fatal glance towards the bomb ticking between the men. 

****

Everyone could see the impending explosion, except Kris. Kris, whose own damn anger was blinding him to the possible consequences.

****

It wasn’t until Erik drew himself up to his full 6’5 that Kris truly realized his mistake.

****

Shit. 

****

———

****

Erik didn’t have to touch Kris, didn’t have to do much of anything before regret rang hollow behind Kris’ eyes. 

****

Kris knew. Knew what he said was a mistake, that it should have never left the thoughts it festered from.

****

But it had. And who was Erik to let such unnecessary rudeness stand? Teammates, or not. A line had been crossed. And Erik couldn’t let it stand.

****

Eyes of the team were drawn their way, silence a cold hand crushing their windpipes as the bomb ticked down.

****

3

****

2

****

1

****

Ka-boom.

****

“You don’t know anything about the Canucks. Their competence, their skill. You’re one to talk about skill anyways, considering it was your lazy defence that cost us this game — you know that, right?”

****

Far from a question, there was no fire in Erik’s words. Just ice, piercing the walls Kris had built up around himself like a fortress. Bullets finding their marks through chinks in the armour. 

****

“The only reason you think you can get away with talking this shit is because no other new guy has stood up to you before, have they?”

****

A step forward was taken, and Kris was forced a step backwards.

****

“You’re not a God. You’re a defenseman that thinks he’s allowed to slack just because there’s new blood to take the fall. I’m not taking that  _ shit _ from you. Keep the Canucks out of your goddamn thoughts, they’re my family. It doesn’t matter what jersey I’m wearing.”

****

———

****

Kris didn’t have a chance to react, didn’t get a chance to hiss out a rebuttal against everything that was thrown at his feet. Erik was already walking away. 

****

It was a damn gift, how easily he ruined good things. How quickly they crumbled in his hands. Just yesterday they had been tangled up with each other in a hotel bed. Erik’s hand in his hair, Kris stroking a calloused thumb against the scratch of stubble upon Erik’s cheek. 

****

King Midas in reverse. Gold to dust. 

****

They weren’t anything. Not really. So why the fuck did the sight of him stalking away, rigid with anger, ignite so much damn pain in Kris’ ribcage?

****

Heavy footsteps proceeded the heavy  _ thump _ of someone’s shoulder hitting his own, hard enough to make him stumble. Hard enough to make Kris hiss through his teeth. The annoyance in his gaze turning to the culprit only to be met with dark anger radiating from McCann.

****

Shit. Right. There were  _ two _ former goddamn Canucks. 

****

Christ, he needed to remember more about his teammates. 

****

“Watch it, Canner.”

****

“Watch your fucking mouth then.”

****

The interaction was over before it had even began, and it left Kris reeling. When was the last time McCann had spoken to any of the team with such venom? 

****

This was far from the worst thing Kris had ever said, so why the fuck were they getting so sensitive?

****

“Christ. Canucks can’t take a fucking joke, can they.”

****

It was words more meant for himself than anyone else. More to soothe the ache in his veins than to earn the sympathetic smile Dumoulin was offering from the other side of the locker room. 

****

———

****

Erik didn't like to fight, as surprising as that seemed to those who saw the anger pulling his very being when he’s on the ice. Didn't like the pounding of blood in his temples. Didn't like the destructive fire that spat from his very being each time his temper flared like an untrained stallion. 

****

Even less so did Erik like fighting with his teammates. It was one thing when anger was forced by the game, when both sides knew that it meant nothing, even if the gloves dropped. But such disconnect didn't exist when teammates butted heads. Yes, this time it could be blamed on the stress of the game. The heavy weight of loss sitting on all of their shoulders. But Erik wasn't in the habit of excusing personal attacks by attributing it to nothing but simple stress.

****

Kris knew what he had been doing. Knew what to say to hurt. And he had succeeded, even now. Far from the locker room and all those damn eyes, Erik could feel the pain spreading through his chest. Twisting between his ribs and squeezing his heart until it burst.

****

The dial tone rang dull against Erik’s ear. Drawing him to the present, to the only noise droning in the silence of the hotel room. Repeating over and over until the familiar voice crackled over the speakers. 

****

_ “Erik? Are you alright?” _

****

The exhale that left his lips only trembled slightly, before his lips curled into a smile that the voice could not see.

****

“Yeah, mom. I’m fine. Just a rough game. How’s home?”

****

It was always easier to focus on problems out of your reach, that didn’t involve you or your actions.

****

And God knows home always had enough petty problems to soothe his screaming mind. Provided enough distraction that when the phone was finally hung up, Erik could sleep. Not waking a single time during the night, though judging by the blowup of texts upon his phone in the morning— that couldn’t be said for everyone.

****

Text from  **Cannery** 11:58PM _ : Can u believe Tangers ass? _

****

Text from  **Cannery** 11:58PM:  _ not his actual ass just his shit ass attitude  _

****

Text from  **Cannery** 12:00AM:  _ He didn’t even show up for drinks. Not that I care but o captain my captain seemed to _

****

Text from  **Cannery** 1:30AM:  _ I’m gonna assume you’re asleep and he’s not with you  _

****

Text from  **Cannery** 1:30AM: _ but if I’m wrong and you let him weasel himself back under your sheets I’m gonna kill you cause he’s not answering his phone and I don’t trust it when you’re both not replying  _

****

Text from  **Cannery** 2:00AM:  _ WHATEVER just don’t come to practice tomorrow covered in hockies _

****

Text from  **Cannery** 2:00AM:  _ hahahahahahahha hockies _

****

Text from  **Cannery** 2:01AM:  _ Hickies** _

****

———

****

“I’m just saying that it’s fucking bullshit is all.”

****

Hungover from a party of his own held far from where the team went, Kris’ brain throbbed with each stream of light that danced across his room. Not that staring at his laptop screen was really doing him any better. 

****

It wasn’t Kris’ fault that Fleury was in a different state, though. And it certainly wasn’t his fault that Fleury had a damn sense for when things were wrong.

****

“ _ It’s a fair reaction. You would have been worse.” _

****

The laptop’s static shifted the easy accent of Marc-Andre’s voice to something just on this side of harsh. Fingers against chalkboard— both the voice, and the words he knew to be true. 

****

True, or not, it had been hours since they fought. Hours since Erik got his feelings hurt. And still, they hadn’t spoken. Not at practice, which was an entire new hell when you drank yourself to death the day previous, and not in the locker room afterwards. Hell, Kris couldn’t even force  _ eye contact  _ to be made. It was like he didn’t even exist.

****

Invisible. Kris fucking hated being invisible.

****

It was only when he was back at the hotel room that the feeling eased in his chest. That he let himself breathe for the first time since the fight. Had it really only been 15 hours? It felt like longer. Felt like it had been months, even goddamn years since he had been in the same area as Erik’s smile.

****

“Whose damn side are you on, Flower?” The snapped words did not warrant a reply, only the raising of eyebrows and a look that didn’t quite qualify for disappointment, but still made the guilt rise up Kris’s throat. “—Sorry. I know  _ you _ didn’t do shit.”

****

“ _ Damn right I didn’t. Why does this have you so upset, anyway? Not like you.” _

****

A lot had changed since Fleury left. A lot that his friend didn’t know about, that Kris couldn’t force out of the tight chasm of his throat. Experiences and scares that stayed tucked within Kris’s ribcage. Rotting and festering within his body. 

****

“I’m allowed to be pissed that my damn teammate is refusing to look me in the eye, y’know. I know myself better than you do.”

****

“ _ Kris, I don’t think you’d recognize yourself on the street. I know what pissed Tanger looks like. This isn’t pissed.” _

****

Kris was sick of it. Sick of how easy Fleury seemed to think this situation was. How sure he seemed to be, when he didn’t even know all the damn facts. 

****

Kris didn’t answer. Laptop slammed shut with a sound that made him cringe. He didn’t need to hear more of Fleury’s bullshit today. He needed to sweat, run. Work this anger out of his system in a way that would help his team. 

****

_ This isn’t pissed _ .

****

Then what the fuck was it?

****

The answer fluttered under his tongue. Aching to be free. Kris swallowed it. 

****

This was anger. And if it wasn’t, he would  _ make _ it anger. 

****

———

****

Nothing else was important. Nothing else registered. Only the goal sound, the feel of his teammates colliding with him. The energy, the happiness radiating. Good goal. Thank you, Geno.

****

Everything was loud, Erik’s ankle ached. He shouldn’t be on the ice, shouldn’t be playing. But he had scored a damn goal.

****

The grin Erik sported was dazed, bared teeth in feigned aggression that fooled no one. 

****

His eyes searched for Kris— then quickly abandoned the mission.

****

This wasn’t about anyone but him. This was  _ his _ moment. Kris wasn’t allowed to worm his way into Erik’s mind. Not now.

****

He hoped the Canucks were watching. That they knew he was doing this for them, too. 

****

It was the only goal scored that night. Two losses in a row, and it was easy to see how it was taking a toll upon the team. Hell, it was easy to see how it was taking a toll on his own mind.

****

They were a good team. Everyone in the locker room damn well knew it, too.They were better than this. They had to  _ do  _ better than this. 

****

A familiar grip upon Erik’s bicep. A squeeze, then release. Blink and you’ll miss it contact that ached and twisted his heart. Kris did not make eye contact with him as he escaped to the showers, but he didn’t need to. 

****

It wasn’t hard for Erik to decipher what it meant.

****

_ Good game, I’m proud of you.  _

_ I miss you. _

****

Erik missed him, too. 

****

Drinks were canceled. But still, he woke up with his head in McCann’s lap, and a killer headache, wondering why the pain in his chest wasn’t yet gone.

****

————

****

Text to  **Asshole** 6:10PM:  _ Sorry I was an asshole _

****

Text from  **Asshole** 6:18PM:  _ You’re always an asshole _

****

Text to  **Asshole** 6:19PM:  _ Shut the fuck up Fleury I wasn’t done _

****

Text to  **Asshole** 6:30PM:  _ I think I have a problem _

****

Text from  **Asshole** 6:30PM:  _ Let me help you. _

****

It wasn’t long before his phone was buzzing with an unanswered call. Ringing once, twice, a third time before Kris gave in.

****

“Salut.“ Short, but with none of the usual venom. 

****

His anger was tired. 

****

The conversation didn’t last long before Fleury was called for warmups and the call was ended amongst the delayed ruckus, among the noise of the crowd that could be heard even from the locker room. 

****

_ Your heart knows when it needs something, try to listen to it.  _ Fleury's words repeated over within his mind, even as silence descended back upon him. 

****

Fuck, Kris hated when he was right. Hated when he had no choice but to accept that Fleury wasn’t out to fuck him up even more. 

****

Really, he needed to stop going to him, but who else was going to call him an idiot? Who else was going to make him face the problems that plagued him head on?

****

Nobody. 

****

Hell, even Geno tiptoed around his temper when he was too exhausted to deal with the barbed wire lacing Kris’s tongue. 

****

But Fleury was safe behind a screen, miles upon miles from here. And Fleury had always cared too much, would always put himself out on a ledge to help. It would be the death of him one day, Kris knew. He didn’t think about how nice it would be to have a soft heart. To not be ready to strike every second of every day. 

****

To be soft in modern times required more strength than Kris possessed. 

****

Text to  **Guds** 7:01PM:  _ Hey. _

****

Text to  **Guds** 7:10PM:  _ Come over. I won’t try anything, I just want to talk. _

****

**_————_ **

****

_ I just want to talk _

****

God knows why Erik fell for it. Why he found himself down the hall standing before Kris’s door. Barefoot and suspicious, but there. And that was more than what Kris deserved. 

****

He had been here before, weeks prior. A different hotel, a different situation leading them to this standoff. But he had received that same text.  _ We should talk. _ A smoke signal, indecipherable to those uneducated in the messages it held.

****

But Erik had found the key. And the key said that this could end one of two ways; sex, or another blow-up fight. Neither option particularly called to him, neither option was healthy. But God knows Kris didn’t know anything else, wouldn’t know healthy problem solving if it bit him right in the ass. Not that Erik was really  _ much _ better, but hey, a guy could at least try. 

****

One breath; Inhale, slow exhale, and then his fist was knocking upon the shiny wood of the door. Tuning into the curses in French and feet scuffing against the floor, sounds muffled by the barrier between them. A welcome distraction to what was sure to be a conversation that neither would come out of unscathed. 

****

The lock clicked, and it was too late to escape as the door opened. 

****

Kris looked as he always did: long hair wet and messy and pushed out of his face. He looked tired, and if Erik had any less self control he would cup his cheek. Brush his thumb over the coarse hair covering the skin.

****

But he didn’t. And his hands only shoved deeper into his jacket pockets.

****

“What did you wanna talk about, Tanger.”

****

For all the aggression that Erik so often choked down upon the ice. All of the anger he so desperately tried to keep a handle on, none of it was evident in his voice. In his face.

****

Life was too short to stay mad for so long. The season could be over tomorrow, Erik didn’t want these last hours to be spent in anger. He wanted to appreciate his new team, the work they put in even if everyone wasn’t quite on the same page. It didn’t matter if they were swept or not, they had done the best they could.

****

There was a long silence. Long enough that Erik couldn’t help but think that Kris had been cursed to silence or some shit. A punishment for his poison tongue, wouldn’t that be fitting?

****

“I’m sorry.” No curse, no punishment. This wasn’t a world of fairytales, this was real life.  “I shouldn’t have said that shit, it was a dick move. I know you loved the Canucks.”

****

“I still do. Just because I’m wearing yellow instead of blue doesn’t mean that this is my family.” Erik’s reply was immediate, snappier than necessary, but oh well. The Penguins would be his family eventually, but not yet. Not when the trade was a mere few months old, when Erik knew that he should be here with Vancouver, not Pittsburgh. Not when there was just enough different to be  _ wrong. _

****

This team had always been Kris’ family, it would be wrong for Erik to assume that he could know how this feels. 

****

There was silence again. Deafening silence that ached in Erik’s chest. 

****

“Can you just come inside.”

****

Who was he to say no?

****

————

****

Erik had come inside the hotel room at least, had given him that damn much at least when he knew that Kris didn’t hold any high ground over this situation.

****

It  _ was  _ his fuckup after all, maybe he deserved this. Deserved to be snapped at, God knows he had done his fair share already. 

****

The threat of silence was a threat no longer. Heavy and brutal and only broken by the steady drip of the kitchen tap that Kris hadn’t quite turned all the way off. It was hard to speak when invisible hands gripped at your windpipe. Kris wondered if Erik felt the same way. 

****

He had dealt with worse than the silence. And so he swallowed. Broke the hold it had on his mouth, and spoke.

****

“I am sorry.” Words said already, Kris could almost see Erik’s hope deflate inside him. 

****

Shit.

****

“I wasn’t mad at you, it was just a bullshit game. These entire playoffs have been bullshit games.” Anger rose and choked him. Anger at how he was playing, at the media that hounded them after every game. Anger at how stressed Sid looked after every game, at every damn practice. Anger at how desperately the rookies were trying to be better, as if it was their fault.

****

It was bullshit. Every inch of it, every play. It was all bullshit. 

****

He didn’t realize his jaw was clenched until Erik lifted his hand, calloused fingers tracing with stunning gentleness over the tight muscle. 

****

“Playoffs are shitty. You’re fine.” 

****

The touch was taken away as those words were granted. Kris did not ask him to soothe him again. Drowning the want in waves of stubbornness until the thought went limp in the water. 

****

When it went silent, it wasn’t heavy any longer. Broken quicker this time, by a brush of fingers over uncovered bicep. Tattoos whose meanings were hidden from him. If they even  _ had _ meaning, God knows some of Kris’ own didn’t. 

****

“I talked to Fleury.” It didn’t mean anything to Erik. Fleury wasn’t  _ his _ friend, hell, had they even met before? Whatever. “He said bullshit. But some of it was fair.”

****

_ This isn’t anger _

_ Listen to what your heart wants _ . Some sort of cheesy teen movie shit that was. Kris didn’t have to speak of any of that. But the ball was already rolling.

****

“He said that I wasn’t angry at you for, you know... ignoring me. That it was something else. Obviously I’ve had a lot of time to think about that shit, so—“

****

A pause. A rough hand lifting to mess up the  _ already _ messy hairdo he was sporting. 

****

“I think what he meant is that I like you… More than a teammate, of course I fucking like you as a teammate. Whatever. You get what I mean, I’m not going to act like an embarrassed schoolkid or something.”

****

———

****

It was the last time they had been in a similar situation that he had said it. That Erik admitted out loud for the first time that he wanted something more. Something more than a hookup, more than someone to ease the craving of skin-to-skin contact. Kris had snapped at such a thought.

****

_ I’m not being your fucking boyfriend Guddy, if that’s what you’re thinking. You were fine with just being a hookup before, why are you being a bitch about it now? _

****

They didn’t speak for awhile after that. And now Kris had the goddamn  _ audacity  _ to say that he likes him? That he wanted something more? 

****

Everything happened very quick. A curled fist came out, connected with Kris’ stomach. 

****

He should have left right then. Should have made Kris think about what a bullshit situation this was. But he didn’t. No, instead he kissed him. Gentle and rough, cautious and desperate all at the same time. And when Kris finally caught his breath and kissed back, he only moved in closer.

****

Erik Gudbranson was not a proud man.

****

It was only when Kris started guiding the kiss into something  _ more _ that Erik pulled back. One hand covering the other man's mouth to force a full stop. Kris was  _ so _ demanding for someone so much shorter than him.

****

It would be funny if— 

****

Who was Erik joking, it  _ was _ funny.

****

“We’re not doing this. Not today. You damn well know how I feel about you already. But I need to know if this is you  _ actually figuring your shit out _ , or if you’re going to change your mind.”

****

Underneath the scowl from the other man, Erik almost felt guilty. But he didn’t. He almost changed his mind, almost kissed him again when he took his hand away. But pride and stubbornness held fast. And the only thing Kris was graced with was a quick pat on the cheek before Erik was walking out of the hotel room. 

****

“ _ I just think that it’s weird. That’s all I’m saying.”  _ On his laptop screen, Horvat raised his hands in mock surrender. Pulled from their own schedules, the faces of his family looked back at him from the screen. Not complete, but enough. 

****

“ _ When talking insignificance— he was speaking of Brock, right?”  _ The dry tone of Pettersson’s voice was immediately followed by Brock’s laughing,  _ ‘Hey!’  _ From somewhere off camera. 

****

It was nice to see them all smiling. Even if it ached in Erik’s heart.

****

“Letang is weird, in general. Everyone here is weird,” a pause, “—not in a bad way. Just weird. How’s Pearson doing there?”

****

There was a silence. A pause over three separate screens. And then Horvat spoke.

****

“ _ It’s weird here without you too.” _

****

Erik tried not to think of how badly he wanted to hear that. 

****

When the call ended, Erik felt more alone than he had since the trade first happened. 

****

———

****

It was after the last game that Kris finally came to his conclusion. 

****

After all the media had left it was utterly silent. Some of the team had already left, escaping to their safe places to mourn this last loss of the season in peace. But some stayed.

****

Geno stayed by Sidney’s side. Large hand laying comfortingly upon their captain’s thigh. Familiar domesticity that let Sid breathe like nothing else could. Johnson sat quietly with Olli. Talking low to each other and trying to make the situation the best they could. 

****

Erik was alone on the other side of the locker room. Staring down at his hands like they themselves had brought the forbidden fruit to the lips of the team and forced the loss. 

****

He didn’t move when Kris sat down next to him. Didn’t look up, didn’t twitch a single muscle. If Kris was one to worry, he’d be worried out of his damn mind.

****

“Hey.” 

****

No response, that was fine. Erik didn’t need to respond to be listening. 

****

“It was me figuring my shit out. I wasn’t just saying what you wanted to hear to get in your pants. Didn’t want to wait until you went back to Ottawa to tell you. You should shower, you fucking stink.”

****

At least that got a laugh. A half smile that Kris could barely make out with how Erik’s head was tilted down. Just as the thought that  _ maybe _ he should leave was crossing his mind, his hand was taken.

****

Fingers intertwined with each other. As intimate as something so small  _ could _ be. 

****

Neither spoke. Nothing needed to be said when each knew what the other was saying.

****

_ Stay with me. _

****

Bittersweet were the emotions swirling in his chest. They had lost. But somehow, he had still won. 


End file.
